


El Tango De Virgil

by centreoftheselights



Series: El Tango De Virgil [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Anxiety, Arguments, Compulsory Sexuality, El Tango De Roxanne, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Support, Financial Issues, Getting Together, Love, M/M, Pining Logic | Logan Sanders, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Poverty, Power Imbalance, Protective Logic | Logan Sanders, Recovery, Sex Worker Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Survival Sex Work, Tango, Uncertainty, Unconditional Acceptance, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Yearning, fear of intimacy, implied offscreen violence, platonic intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:20:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22605370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/centreoftheselights/pseuds/centreoftheselights
Summary: Without trust, there can be no love.
Relationships: Analogical - Relationship
Series: El Tango De Virgil [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1641595
Comments: 22
Kudos: 184





	El Tango De Virgil

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [“When Love is for the highest bidder, there can be no Trust! Without Trust there is no Love!”](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/557020) by fangirltothefullest. 



> **Content Warning:** this has some heavy themes including survival sex work and trauma. Nothing is graphic, but reader discretion is advised.
> 
> This fic was inspired by a [Moulin Rouge AU analogical artwork](https://fangirltothefullest.tumblr.com/post/190438345425/when-love-is-for-the-highest-bidder-there-can-be) by @fangirltothefullest on Tumblr. My knowledge of Moulin Rouge is limited to about two songs, so this is my own separate AU, but the art is so beautiful that I couldn't help but write about it. (There's already a part 2 on the way...)
> 
> Big thanks to [@forrestwyrm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/forrestwyrm/pseuds/forrestwyrm) for beta-ing and to everyone who read the original version of this on my Discord!

Virgil knows the value of sex, down to the cent. If no-one's getting paid, then its a trade – for safety, for comfort, for “love.” It's always a give and take – power and humiliation, pleasure and pain, what they want and what you have.

Sex ruins people. That's what its _for_.

The more you're willing to lose, the more it's worth to someone. And there are always bills to pay…

***

When they were fourteen, Logan and Virgil were best friends. Two loners whose families didn't want them around – they'd go find places to get lost together, and swear blind that one day, they'd get out of this crappy neighbourhood and live a better life.

At seventeen, they were both drop-outs and runaways, moved in together in a room they couldn't afford to keep. Logan doesn't know for sure, but he thinks that was how it started – Virgil doing “favours” for the landlord to make up the rent shortfall. He had always been beautiful, the kind of man who drew other men's eyes without trying, but that was when he started going out at night, waiting on street corners for the customers to come. They both knew he hated it, but it was hard to argue when he was the one keeping a roof over their heads.

And just like that, ten years had passed.

At twenty-seven, Logan knows two things: that he is in love with Virgil, completely and utterly – and that he will never touch him. Not like that. He has spent a decade watching Virgil with his johns – the way he flinches when they touch him, that dead-behind-the-eyes look as he talks to them. He had the same look with his boyfriends, too, back when he used to date a string of worthless guys who rarely stuck around more than a month – but he doesn't do that any more. Now, he says he's happier alone.

He still works, though. Still comes home at three a.m. most nights, sometimes shaking for reasons that have nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with why Virgil is so adamant that Logan doesn't go on the game with him, no matter how much they might be able to earn.

Virgil doesn't ever say what happened, not in so many words, and Logan will not push him. He simply cleans any wounds as best he can and curls up with him in their single twin bed, huddling for warmth in an unheated apartment. Logan is Virgil's safe place, the one he comes home to, and that's enough. It has to be enough.

Logan works three jobs – mornings at the warehouse, afternoons as a janitor, and nights at the cabaret club. He's the owner's man-of-all-work, fetching and carrying and keeping the ageing sound system working, earning a tenth of what he's worth for the privilege. It's the kind of club where the dancers go out and mingle with the audience afterwards, their time onstage little more than an advertisement to try and attract someone into paying for their own private “show.”

Logan is Virgil's dance partner. Twice a week, they tango.

It's a well-choreographed routine, designed to show off Virgil's flexibility, his poise, the pale expanse of his shirtless chest. They dance as characters – Logan strong, possessive, commanding, the man that every man watching imagines himself to be. And in his arms, Virgil is a rag-doll, meek and docile and desperate to please him, no matter what he asks.

It's the only time Logan ever touches him with passion, and he's a million miles from the sharp-tongued firebrand Logan loves. Twice a week, every week, Logan tangoes with a familiar-faced stranger, and every time he aches from it.

But the dance never changes.

***

He's been dreaming of it for years, but it's still a surprise when it actually happens. A tech company recruiter finally looks past Logan's rusty social skills and meagre qualifications, and recognises the self-taught genius that lies beneath. He is hired – a research assistant, the lowest position in the office, but it's a salaried job with prospects and a pension, a promise of a future where he's worth something.

He doesn't earn _enough_ , but it's still more than before. Virgil could stay home most nights, only work the clubs on the weekend – but he doesn't. To Logan's surprise, he still goes out almost every night. They start having enough money for small luxuries – Virgil brings home Logan's favourite jam from when they were kids, buys himself some new make-up even blacker than before. Logan starts putting money aside for a rainy day, because at this point he knows better than to expect a life without storms.

And still, Virgil keeps working on the streets.

Logan has never pushed him on this before, has never felt able to, but he doesn't understand. When his probation period is up, when it's been six months and the job is really, definitely _his_ , he presents a shiny new budget plan to Virgil. He has it all figured out.

“You could stop turning tricks entirely. We have enough saved –”

He expected Virgil to be happy, perhaps even thankful. Instead he gets a snarl – “I never asked for you to fix me, Logan” – a slammed door, and Virgil is gone.

He doesn't come home for three days. For three nights, Logan lies awake shivering, dark thoughts swirling in his mind.

But on Saturdays, Virgil dances.

Logan hasn't been to the club in months. Virgil has been dancing with someone else since he left, a stranger who's “as arrogant as you are, L, with no smarts to back it up.” The owner lets Logan inside, in exchange for fixing a burnt out fuse in the stereo, and all the dancers are delighted to see him back. He's intending to conduct a quick, quiet search of the green room, perhaps ask if anyone has seen Virgil recently.

Before he knows it, he's being pushed onstage, into the spotlight – into Virgil's arms.

The music begins.

They've danced this tango a thousand times, but never like this. Logan is through playing a part. His touch is painfully gentle, fingers trailing lightly down Virgil's arm, caressing his face. It's too soft, not what the johns want to see – and Logan can see Virgil's frustration as he stamps his feet a little harder, bringing in some fire of his own. Challenging Logan to match him, only to be met by the same incessant tenderness.

Logan can offer nothing else.

As soon as the music ends, Virgil runs out into the night. This time, Logan follows.

“What the fuck was that?”

“The Argentine tango.”

“You know what I mean, L! That wasn't your character. Who was that?”

“It was me. It was… how I truly feel.”

There's a moment of stillness. Then Virgil shoves Logan back against the alley wall, and kisses him like a drowning man, clinging to him urgently as their lips clash together. Logan's fingers tangle in his hair as he kisses back with everything he has.

They break apart slowly, reluctantly, gasping for breath.

“Come home with me?” Logan asks, desperately.

Virgil smiles slowly.

“You gonna fuck me?” he asks, low and sultry and unhesitant and – oh.

“… no,” Logan says quietly. “I will not.”

Virgil scowls, shoving him in the chest as he steps back.

“Why not?” he demands. “You want to, don't you? Why won't you let me do this for you?”

“I'm not a client.” Logan says coldly.

“Then why the fuck do you keep giving me things?” Virgil asks, his voice suddenly hoarse. “And how am I ever supposed to pay you back?”

Virgil is crying, hot, heavy tears splashing down his face. Logan doesn't know what to say.

“Please. Come home?”

Virgil scowls, but he lets himself be led to a cab. They spend the drive home in silence, climb the cold concrete stairs to their apartment without looking at one another. As they walk inside, Logan taps Virgil's hand, touch butterfly-soft, and gestures to the kitchen.

Virgil sits on the counter, and Logan wipes his face with a cool cloth, cleaning away his make-up as he has so many times before.

“Are you hurt?”

Virgil bites his lip, looking down. “Just a grazed knee.”

“May I see?”

Virgil rolls up his trouser leg, as Logan retrieves the first aid kit. He starts to clean the wound, kneeling at Virgil's feet. When he glances up, Virgil looks away.

“You deserve better than this place,” Virgil says. “You'll have enough for somewhere new, soon.”

“I'll take you with me.”

“I didn't say I wanted you to.”

Logan half-smiles. “You hate it here.”

“What's that got to do with anything?” Virgil asks with a huff. “This is where I belong.”

Logan sighs gently. He presses a dressing to the wound, and gets to his feet before answering.

“V… belonging isn't supposed to hurt.”

Neither of them know what to say after that. They go to bed, their bodies bracketed together, hands clasping each other tight as they have so many nights before. Only then can Logan finally rest.

***

Virgil wakes up early the next morning – he doesn't sleep well, although the last few days were worse without Logan there. He lies in the bed, staring at Logan, trying to figure things out. Logan's face seems more open, without his glasses and the habitual lines of worry on his brow. It makes Virgil's breath catch to see it.

Virgil had thought he knew all the steps to this dance. The routine hasn't changed in years. But now Logan has broken out of their pattern and created something new, something unpredictable. And Virgil wants to keep dancing, but…

Asking himself if he'd want to have sex with Logan is like asking if he'd want to go to an art museum and slash the canvases with a knife. It's unthinkable, it would be _cruel_. Why would anyone want that?

… but Logan does.

Or does he? Virgil still doesn't understand why Logan turned him down last night. Perhaps because he thought it was about money? That's easy enough to fix. Virgil doesn't care what Logan earns. They could be penniless again, and he would be more than happy to give Logan his body if it would make Logan love him.

But Virgil has a nasty feeling that it wouldn't be enough. Logan is looking for something more, something he doesn't realise yet that Virgil doesn't have any more. Honesty, perhaps, or innocence? Something like that. Something Virgil lost, or gave away, or had taken from him. In the end, it's all the same.

At least Logan still has it, whatever it is. At least Virgil managed to do that much for him. Perhaps that will be a comfort, when the inevitable happens. When Logan realises how broken he is. When Virgil loses the one last thing he still has in this world, and is left alone.

Logan groans as he begins to stir, brow furrowing again. He blinks, his eyes slowly focusing on Virgil. Smiles.

“Good morning,” he says quietly. “How are you feeling?”

“I'm fine.” The lie is so habitual that Virgil barely thinks about it. He hasn't been “fine” in years, not really.

Logan reaches out to take hold of his hand again, then hesitates. Draws back.

“I apologise,” he said stiffly. “After last night –”

“We don't have to talk about it.”

Logan raises an eyebrow at him.

“It doesn't change anything,” Virgil says quickly. _Please, it doesn't have to change anything._

“I will not touch you in a sexual manner unless you ask me to,” Logan says flatly.

Virgil frowns, something squirming in his guts. “I asked you to last night.”

Logan gives him an unreadable look, and Virgil scowls.

“Don't pity me, L. You know better than that.”

“Is it pity, if I can see you're hurting, and I wish I knew how to help?”

“It might be,” Virgil snaps. He doesn't know what else it could be.

Logan watches him for a few seconds, then sighs.

“I may not know how to help, but I know what _hurts_ you. I will not participate in an act that makes you uncomfortable.”

Virgil lets out a bark of laughter.

“Then what the fuck do you want, if you're not going to fuck me?”

“You, happy,” Logan says, simply. “You, safe. Whatever that looks like, but… preferably somewhere I am with you.”

Virgil blinks. He's trying to find the catch, the hidden cost, the price he has to pay. Doesn't Logan know how these things work?

“V?” Logan asks, softly. “I… don't understand. What is it you're afraid of?”

Virgil has spent so many years not telling Logan the truth about that question. But today, the exhaustion and the confusion finally get to him.

“You want me to stop, don't you?” He almost chokes on the words. “It'll make it worse, if I stop for a bit, and then have to go back. I've tried before. I'll feel it again, like when I first started… I won't be used to it any more.”

He's trembling a little, but his eyes snap to Logan's, searching for any sign of disgust or scorn. But instead Logan purses his lips, like he's thinking carefully.

“I am reasonably certain that we are financially stable enough that you would not have to return to this line of work, ever.”

He takes a long, slow breath.

“I have saved sufficient funds to cover our needs for most foreseeable eventualities. However… I understand if you do not trust in my assessment. I will not stop you, if you want to continue to work the trade until you are completely convinced. I would prefer you to cease, but that is your decision, and my support of you will never be conditional on how you choose to live your life.”

Virgil blinks at him, and suddenly he's filled with something strange and warm and unfamiliar. If he was more optimistic, he might call it “hope.”

“My half of the rent –”

“You paid our way for the last ten years, Virgil,” Logan says quietly. “Permit me to take a turn.”

Virgil bites his lip, holding his breath for a long moment. Then –

“I'll stop,” Virgil says, and the words hang in the air like a gunshot echoing.

It takes a moment for it to sink in, that he's said it, and then he starts to shake, stomach turning with sudden nausea –

“May I touch you?” Logan asks lightly, and Virgil nods. Logan's hand is cool against his cheek, steadying him, giving him something to focus on.

“Breathe,” Logan says soothingly, leading him through the counting exercise they've done so many times before. “There. You will be alright, Virgil, I promise. Trust me?”

“… More than anyone,” Virgil says. It's not a yes, but it's as close as he can get. “I…”

Virgil thought he knew how to let himself get hurt, how to open himself up to it without feeling the inevitable pain that follows. But this feels like something different, like letting Logan touch a part of him that he thought had been dead for years, and he can't – doesn't _want_ to – disengage.

It's fucking terrifying.

“Don't let go,” he murmurs, and Logan doesn't. Even as Virgil curls in closer, he keeps his hand cupping Virgil's cheek. And then – ever so slowly – he leans forward, and presses his lips to Virgil's forehead.

And Virgil feels… something. Something aching and a little hopeful, even through the fear. Something flooding his senses where he has so long been hollow and empty.

He curls tighter into Logan's embrace, and hopes that he never has to let go.

***

Logan knows the value of love. He treasures every touch from Virgil – every brush of their hands, every touch of his lips, every smile offered freely and without hesitation. One day it might be more than that – or it might not. He doesn't care much either way, so long as Virgil keeps smiling at him like that – and he's smiling more every day now.

Love saves people. That's what it's _for_.

And they will build a future together, one gentle touch at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> (NB This is not intended to be a comprehensive, or necessarily an accurate, depiction of sex work. Don't get all your information about sex work from fanfic - sex workers are real people who deserve your support.)


End file.
